Touch
by SilverMedals
Summary: Snowballs thrown at the Caesar's Palace event. Now in a collection.
1. One Reason Not To Trust - Estoma

**Nothing was rewritten, but compiling all of my snowballs into one thing makes sense.**

**Estoma, I hope you enjoy the snow down your back in the midst of an Australian summer : )**

"If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get," Brutus hisses in her ear. One hand grasps her muddied hair and the other presses a knife into her neck. A thin stream of blood trickles over her collarbone. He lets her fall onto the dirt, lets her silently suffer for seventeen seconds.

She whimpers, softly, clenching her fists. She's skinned her knees, and the dirt that's grinding into the wounds isn't helping her situation. "I want a fight," she whispers, climbing to her feet.

"Darling, it's easier for you if you just lie back and let it happen," he says, smirking. She lunges for him, clawing at his neck. He presses her back, pushing against her chest with the shaft of his spear. She falls back onto the emerald green grass.

Wiping blood from her brow, she draws back, clutching her knees to her chest. Blood stains her torn and dirty shirt, staining what little white remains. "Please," she cries, tears streaking across her face.

"Oh, Amity, don't you get it? You're going to die."

She whimpers as he teases her, throwing the spear close to her abdomen then pulling it back. Amity scrambles back, fingers clutching the blades of grass. Staring into his eyes, she realizes she has no choice.

She has to fight back.

When she rises he shoves her back, but catches her before she falls to the ground. He draws her lips close to his and she obliges, pulling her arms around his neck. When their lips meet, his hands close around her neck.

Poor Amity died a moment later, straggling for one last breath. Those who dare to hope, and those who dare to trust? They die.

But it's always at the hands of Brutus.


	2. Sweet Nothings - Estoma

She presses the tips of her fingers to his bare arm, tracing his every curve. He tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear, smiling at her. Biting her lip, she runs her fingers through his golden hair.

"Mm, you know what, Finnick, I might just have to kiss you," Johanna says, playfully tugging at his tie.

"I might just make you," Finnick says, his mouth pulled up into a flirtatious smile.

She whispers a few words into his ear, fingers trailing up the back of his neck. In an instant, he presses his lips to hers.

He loves those sweet nothings more than the fervor of her voice in her flirtations.

**Estoma, oh, darling, Estoma. . .I'm having a ridiculous amount of fun executing my revenge on you. Too competitive? I think not, darling Lucy. (But I also think so)**


	3. Composure - Estoma

"Mm, you know this is wrong."

They're in the dark, and he's playing with her hair. Her dark eyes flash as she turns. "You think I don't know that?" she snarls, reaching behind her for his neck. He places his hands on her shoulders and rolls his eyes.

"No one's ever done this in the arena, Clover," he murmurs, his hands tracing her curves and settling on her waist.

"You think that bitch from twelve and her blond-haired lover aren't getting it on in their cave right now?" she retorts, ruffling his blonde hair.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. "They're far more composed than-"

She turns, pulling his lips to hers. "But we aren't," she whispers, pulling at the zipper of his jacket.

For Estoma, the Aussie that needs to be assaulted with melty snowballs. Merry Christmas!


	4. Crescendo - Iris

They tell her it's a holiday to give thanks. That they didn't just outright kill all of the District citizens. She'll stand by the doorway while they eat a feast: an apple each, a thin slice of C-grade turkey, and a roll of bread filled with air and unbaked dough.

Her hands hovering by her sides, feet apart, she closes her eyes, reminiscing. When she didn't have to feed eight people, when she could laugh in her mother's arms and not care about a thing. When she didn't have to worry about her nine slips, those glass bowls that shined in the harsh sunlight.

It isn't fair. _Why me?_ she asks herself, eyes fluttering shut.

**For Johanna. Have fun in the fight of snowballs ;)**


	5. A Poorhouse - Johanna

The bombs raining down around them, each one just a rain drop in a storm. Thousands of explosions rocketing around the soldiers. Everything around them is obliterated, hard-packed dirt becoming just dust in the wind.

She doubts she'll make it out alive, but Primrose isn't afraid. She knows everything is over, that this is the end of everything she's ever known. Screams echo around her, a crescendo of agony and pain, not of sweet music notes. She trudges on, not daring to turn around.

She is a nurse. But there is no saving the soldiers.

She falls, knowing she will not again rise. Tears well in her eyes, then she is still.

**For Iris. Hope you're getting more snow than I am (but in the meantime, you have been pegged with my finest snowball), and merry Christmas!**


	6. Snowflake - Rowan

The snowflakes storm down, fluffy little flakes of beauty. But this is not beauty. This is hell. And this is not real.

The arena is all too real. The only way out is death. But in the end, that isn't all too satisfactory an option.

Death is in the air, the fresh smell of wet blood crisp in the cool air.

Apple-red spots stain the snow just a moment later, the white purity of the landscape forever tarnished.

The snowflakes persist to fall, a hazy reminder that this is still hell.

But she knows that this is not real.

**For the lovely Rowan, a snowball! :D**


	7. I Love You - Zero

With the knife clutched in her hand, blood stains against porcelain skin, Rosemarie set out to kill. Rosemarie Gemima Ophelie, darling of the Capitol. Long locks of golden hair, ice blue eyes. The picture of perfection.

She knows she is perfect. Simply because she is perfect.

A spear in each hand, each one marked with a splatter of blood, Felix set out to survive. Felix Tacitus Normandy, well-known outsider. Dark, unruly hair, chocolate skin, and dark eyes, Felix is the epitome of outcast.

He knows there is no way to survive. Simply because there isn't.

And he never meant to kill her.

**For Lils, because sometimes even my great-great niece needs reprimandment once in a while. Have a lovely Australian Christmas! (Left a word out; Fixed it now. . .)**


	8. Tacitus - Lils

The entire world is quiet then, flirtatious whispers the only sounds to bless the air. One hand slowly slinking around around his neck, she fumbles her hand along the wall for the light switch. A flick of the hand later they're in the dark, where the only things in their world are him and her.

Silence. Soft, airy breaths. Her hands are in his golden hair and a moment later, she finds her lips on his.

"I love you," she whispers, pulling away from him for a split second.

They embrace, her arms pulled tight around his neck and his on her waist.

Into her ear, he whispers, "I love you too, Annie Odair." He fumbles for a moment, sliding a delicate ring of copper and quartz onto her finger.

She does not hold back the tears.

"Of course I'll marry you, my handsome- my handsome tridenteer."

**Zero, you are not the most hardcore Odesta shipper, but you were mean to my Lils, and no one is mean to my great-great niece. Much love, and have fun at -1 ;D**


	9. Real - Onyx

The night was jet-black, and Finnick was sure it never would end. The stars twinkled in the distance with the sheen that can only be achieved with real starlight. The sky is real.

Finnick is a boy who spends quite amount of time staring at the stars in the evenings, and this evening is not spectacular, but the sky is real. The arena sky should never be real, he knows.

The trident fell that night, glossy gold and silver, easily a hundred sponsors' worth of money.

He buries his knife in the sand and sets onwards, trident in hand.

**For Onyx/Amanda, a snowball. Hope you like weird Finnickiness.**


	10. Nonchalant - Rose

Her dark hair fell straight that night, eased out of the curls she'd set for the last week. She ran her tongue along the spikes of her teeth. Her lips pinched between the point of her fangs and her canines, she reached for Brutus's hand.

"They're planning a rescue. An escape. Whatever the hell they call it, they know how to get out of here," Enobaria remarked coldly.

"Who? The suicidal teenagers that won last year?" Brutus returned, rolling his eyes.

"Them and their posse."

"Well," Brutus said, clucking his tongue. "We have to stop them."

"How?"

**For Rose, because I need to take your score down and you haven't been written too many things! Love ya ;)**


	11. Innocent - April

A darling little innocent girl, with tresses of gold and eyes of sapphire, she was perfect.

She slept with a cat curled up beside her, clutching a small piece of linen that smelled of her father: the damp, dark smell of the mines and the light, airy smell of vanilla.

It was the day her name came out of the glass bowl that she realized just how fast her innocence would be gone. She froze, her good black shoes nailed to the square. She heard a voice, then, screaming the words no one there had ever heard: I volunteer. Everyone gasped, searching for the voice. But she already knew. It was Katniss.

She didn't watch the Games for a minute, turned her back.

And so it was the next year, until she turned to the screen just as it went black.

Something had happened. To Katniss. To Peeta. Or to Finnick, or to Johanna, or to Enobaria. To anyone, to everyone in there. God, if only it were me, she thought, clutching the scrap of linen to her chest.

Her mother clutched her hand. The screen in Square Twelve still flickered between black and static. Nothing new for two days. Then the flames started.

She woke to smoke outside her window, biting at the window. She rose, bursting into her mother's room. Tears sparkled in her eyes as she woke her mother, trembling.

Already in the square there was a crowd, lead by Gale. The flames had engulfed the stage by then, and smoke rose, blocking out the stars. Buildings crumbled around them, crashing down.

Prim knew that, with District Twelve, her innocence would soon be gone, too.

**April, because you're not the most innocent person I know, here's a fic of the most innocent person in the series. But that's debatable, because of Rue. Anyway, have a lovely bloody cold Christmas ;)**


	12. Thriller - Div

"This isn't real!" he shouts, reaching for the ceiling. His wrists chafe beneath the metal cuffs, another suffering to endure. The ceiling is white, and it's the only color he can see. And it isn't sunset orange.

That makes him angry. "Get me out of here!" Angry roars, fighting at the metal rings pinning him to the table. He roars, a foreign sound escaping from his mouth, followed by a slew of curse words.

At the door he sees Katniss, her hands placed gently on the glass. He roars at her, warning her to run. A tear forms in her eye and he bares his teeth, like a feral animal.

All she wants to do is break the glass between them.


	13. Feral - Johanna

Finally, I understand why this is so popular among those in the upper districts.

It's such a thrill: clutching a knife in your hand, the splash of blood on your wrist.

The familiar dig of blade into flesh, the satisfaction from the scream of your victim.

And then the cannon: a boom, verification that you have, in fact, made your mark on their heart.

Traipsing on through the woods, keen for another victim, knife still tight in hand.

There's no remorse, anymore, like there was the first six times.

Killing isn't such a thrill with one hand.

**Chaff: an extraordinary character shoved out of the spotlight. For Div.**


	14. She Is - Rowan

Glass slippers, golden hair, breathtaking gown.

She looks the part of Cinderella, but she is far from it.

Because Annie Cresta is a princess, and this is not a masquerade. At least, that's what Finnick tells her, clutching her hand at two in the morning.

When the day comes, when she stands at the altar, her veil blocks her tears. He isn't here. He has to be late. He just has to be.

Because she did not get left at the altar by Finnick Odair and this cannot be happening.

"Sorry I'm late," he whispers a moment later.

For Lucy, because Odesta is lovely and so are cute misunderstandings and so are you. It all fits.


	15. Cinderella - Estoma

"I swear to god I'll kill you," she snarls, her numb fingers pulling at the rope binding her wrists.

"How?" he teases, flipping a knife in his hand. The air is cold and he wears both their jackets.

She rolls her eyes, another movement keeping her warm. "That's not important."

"But it's almost important," he points out, rising from his seated position on the ground. He steps towards her, tapping the knife steadily against his thigh.

"Pretty fucking far from almost," she growls, pulling out the last loop in the disgusting excuse for a knot.

She breaks free, throwing him to the ground. He cries out softly.

"Please," he begs, tears welling in his eyes.

"Shut up," she retorts, bringing his knife down onto his neck with his own hand.

**For Rowan. Love ya ;)**


	16. Boy Meets Girl - Rowan

Orange dress, white high heels, dark hair. The contrast is beautiful, and everyone else wears matching outfits: Glimmer, with her golden hair and her provocative golden dress paired with a pair of golden sandals. Marvel with his blue suit, his blue fedora, and his bright blue shoes. He is gaudy, but he matches.

Clove Orion is different.

She answers her interview questions easily: Who do you see as a threat? No one. Do you have yourself a special someone yet? Yes, but they will die soon, too. Who are you winning for? Myself.

They are not even questions. They are lines in a play and she shoots back instantly.

Clove Orion knows the script.

Later that night, she lays in his arms, his hands on her waist. The wind is gentle, that night, and he whispers into her ear, suggestive words that are not to be repeated. He tells of the things they will do in the arena, things that will never be televised. He tells of how he's going to take her around the world and back again, and he tells of how he'll hold her when they're draped in their blankets again.

And in the middle of his onomatopoeia, she shuts him up with a kiss.

The kiss goes a little bit farther, his hands drifting past her waist, past her hips. She reaches behind her for the railing, for something, anything to clutch while he does the things he told of a moment ago. Her hand finds the forcefield, which presses them both forwards. She lands atop him, clutching his collar and gazing into his eyes.

Clove Orion is every bit as seductive as Glimmer.

The next morning, they find each other in the circle of pedestals, dark eyes meeting dreamy, perfect blue eyes. They shoot off of their plates at the exact same moment, like stars aligning.

The last night Clove can breathe, the air is warm. The grass is like the grass in the meadows of District Two. It is the evening before the feast will begin, and their hands are clasped together, and Clove knows there is nothing in their way. They will win this together, and they will win this at dawn.

The feast comes at the time that it should: the table arises from in front of the cornucopia at the moment the sun breaks over the horizon. The mysterious, redheaded girl escapes with her pack into the woods before anyone can kill her, and though it hurts, he and Clove fight the urge to run after her. Then the vile cretin comes into view, creeping out of the woods.

A smirk falls onto Clove's face, her eyes narrowed.

"I love you," she says to him. It is a goodbye for just a moment. She will be back.

A moment later she is screaming his name, begging for him to come to her side. Her head burns. Everything burns. And everybody got away. No one is without their pack. None of this went as it should.

As the world swims in front of her eyes, blurred by tears and blood, she reaches for his hand.

"Kiss me, Cato. I want your lips to be the last thing I feel," she begs, attempting to sit up.

She fails, hearing only the words, "I love-" before the world falls silent around her.

Clove Orion is dead.

Rowan, this is pretty long for a snowball-drabble, but here's a snowball ;) Rated T for not-so-subtly implied sex.


End file.
